Better Together
by renegade1313
Summary: Harry was left broken and can hardly hold his head up. Draco's concerned and wants to help. His heart falls apart when he sees Harry cry. /"You want to hold me?"..."All night."/ WARNING:Slash, OOC, Language.
1. Prologue

_(A/N) So, for a couple weeks I have been reading a lot, and let me repeat, a LOT, of H/D fanfiction, and it being so long since I actually wrote something of a story myself, I thought I might stretch my wings. Reviews would be appreciated and very much welcomed, it makes a writer tingle, I think, to hear people talking about their stories. :D So, without further adieu, here is the Prologue of Better Together. If I get enough positive feedback on the story, I'll post the first Chapter, but without much encouragement it's hard to find the motivation. We'll just see where this goes, yeah? :]_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or anything that quite obviously came from the brilliant mind of Miss J.K. Rowling. I would just like to play with her characters a bit, I'll put them back when I'm done. ;]**

_Enjoy!_

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Better Together - Prologue

The mist hung heavily in the streets of London, the grey sky stretching vastly across the sullen, concrete skyline, meeting at the very brink of vision to meld together and disappear behind an opaque curtain of thick fog. Harry's head rested tiredly against the cool glass of the window pane, his breathe coating the window in thin blankets of moisture with every escaping breath. His eyes searched the landscape carefully, for something none too specific; searching for an answer which constantly eluded him. Seven months he had been searching, meticulously picking apart his life with a fine-tooth comb. Answers, it seemed, had been purposefully running from him. Try as he might, he couldn't quite reach a definite conclusion. He had put together a long list of theories, of course, but nothing so concrete to act on, or even put the smallest sliver of faith into. All in all, Harry felt hopeless. How had his life come down to this? He had believed, once-upon-a-time, that he was completely happy, but all of that had been ripped away from him seven months ago, along with what stability he had. Harry closed his eyes and reveled in the coolness of the glass, thinking back to mid-January, when his life had encountered yet another harsh turn of events:

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Harry watched as his breath rose into the biting, winter air in front of him, shoving a hand deep into the pocket of his pea coat, the other clasping the hand of a stunning young man, dressed rather impeccably and frowning against a brief gust of wind that blew against the couple. Harry squeezed his boyfriends hand and moved closer to him unconsciously, seeking warmth from the frost-laden air. They walked slowly through a small, residential area of London as they made their way to Harry's flat. Aarron, the taller and ravishing boy, had been rather subdued for most of the evening, and Harry's mind reeled at what could possibly be bothering his boyfriend this time. He momentarily considered asking his counterpart what was wrong, before roughly pushing the thought away; if he wanted to talk about anything he would do so of his own accord and on his own time. Aarron usually got agitated when Harry pried too much, complaining that he was much too pushy all the time. Harry had learned, after being with him for so long, that to avoid any sort-of argument or hurt feelings (mostly Harry's), that ignoring it and letting it go always saved him any heartache.

They passed under a street lamp, the two of them being briefly bathed in a golden glow. Harry looked over to Aarron, marveling in the beauty he was met with. Aarron was exceptionally gorgeous. His short, black hair was dusted with fine specks of snow that sparkled in the amber glow of the looming street lamp. Although his features were drawn into a half-scowl at the freezing, January weather, he came across as nothing short of remarkable. His dark-blue eyes stared straight ahead into the growing darkness before them, his brow furrowed into obvious annoyance; he hated the cold. His skin was flawless, as it always was, and his full lips were soft, even at the mercy of the bitter air. The only evidence that his body was susceptible to the cold was the slight reddening of those lips. Harry's gaze fell back to the snow-covered ground, a smile slowly forming on his chaffing lips. Aaron looked cautiously at the other boy, having felt his eyes on him not moments before, and felt the residual warmth encircling his hand. Despite their vulnerability to the weather, that small pool of heat was welcomed, gratefully. He held his gaze on Harry, and let out a slow sigh, a billowing plume of mist rising into the dark, star-streaked sky. He noticed the smile playing on Harry's lips and frowned once more, turning his eyes back to the encroaching darkness. As delightful as their evening had been, he had been having difficulty concentrating. He shivered as the wind picked up once more and pulled himself further into the recesses of his heavy, wool coat. Feeling a violent shiver from the shorter boy beside him, he stepped closer to Harry, moving his thumbs in soothing circles on the back of Harry's hand.

They soon reached Harry's flat on a quiet, suburban street. They walked hastily up to the front door and stopped briefly on the doorstep while Harry fumbled with his keys before walking through the doorframe and into the darkened home, stomping off snow from their shoes onto the small rug by the door, before advancing into the warm living room. Harry quickly switched on a lamp before removing his coat and scarf. He looked around to Aarron who was hastily doing the same. Harry straightened and walked over to the taller boy, reaching out his arms. Aarron held out an arm and Harry gratefully slid into his embrace, wrapping his arms around Aarron's waist and nestling his head against his chest. Aarron, being slightly taller than Harry, leaned down and planted a soft kiss to the top of Harry's head, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of Harry's shampoo. Harry stirred against him and pulled away, inclining his head to look up at his partner, puckering his lips expectantly. Aarron leaned down further and planted a soft, dutiful kiss to Harry's cold lips. "I'll make us some tea," Harry whispered, reluctantly pulling out of Aarron's arm and retreating to the kitchen, flipping on the light switch as he went, dousing the cozy kitchen in a clean, white light. He gathered the tea kettle from the range and filled it with water, replacing it carefully on the stove, and turning on the burner before opening the cabinet above the stove to withdraw a glass canister filled with tea bags. As he opened the lid, he was met with the soothing scent of honeysuckle and rose hips, reveling in the heavenly aroma before retrieving two of the tea bags and closing the canister, placing it back in its respective place. He crossed the kitchen in a swift motion to pull two mugs from their respective cabinet and quickly returned to the counter adjacent the stove. He pulled the kettle of now boiling water from the burner and poured the hot water over the tea bags in each mug. He stepped over to the fridge and withdrew a small bowl of thinly sliced lemon, placing a slice into each cup before closing the refrigerator door and taking a mug into each hand and carefully making his way back into the living room, easing himself into the seat beside Aarron on the couch. Aarron gratefully took the piping-hot tea with a muttered "Thank you" and wrapped his fingers around the warm ceramic. He blew on the steaming liquid once before taking a small sip, humming softly as the tea warmed him from the inside out.

"Do you have to work tomorrow?" It was Harry who spoke first.

"Of course," he sighed, "would you have guessed any less?"

"No, I suppose not," Harry said and chuckled. He raised his eyes to the boy sitting quietly beside him, noticing he was still shivering slightly. Harry reached his hand into the pocket of his coat, that was laid neatly on the back of the couch, and withdrew a sleek, ebony wand, poiting it at the hearth across from the couch. The logs erupted into lively flames, and the room was enveloped in a glowing, amber radiance, the only sound the frequent crackling of the flames as they danced about the fireplace in an unchoreographed, yet graceful ballet. Warmth flooded the small room and the already-evident homeliness of the flat was amplified. "Are we still on for this weekend?" Harry asked, almost cautiously.

Aaron groaned, taking another drink of his tea before setting it down on the glass coffee table. "I'm not sure, please, for once, don't plan my entire week, you know I hate it," he huffed, running a hand through his water-specked hair.

"I was just wondering. I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, dropping his gaze to his clasped hands, biting his bottom lip anxiously. Aarron stole a quick glance at Harry and blew a sharp breath out of his nostrils.

"I just feel overwhelmed . . ." he trailed off, shaking his head and wringing his hands together.

"Is it work . . ." Harry began before Aarron was holding up a hand, signaling him to stop.

"Let me talk, please," he drew a breath and continued. "I don't know what it is. I think I really just need a break . . . from everything, life in general." He scrubbed his hands over his face and looked over at Harry, not fully anticipating what sort-of reaction he would get from his boyfriend. Harry looked at Aarron thoughtfully before responding in the gentlest of tones.

"Maybe we should take a vacation. We both know we're overdue for one, and I bet it would calm your nerves. It could do a lot of good for both-" Harry said before Aarron interrupted impatiently.

"I doubt that would help. The stress and responsibility would just be waiting when we got back. I just need to eliminate what stress and responsibility that I can . . ." he trailed off once again, his eyes becoming particularly interested in a fringe hanging from his shirt sleeve. "I don't know if you can understand or not, I don't really expect you to, but relationships are quite demanding and require a great deal of responsibility . . ." he looked up for a moment, and noticed Harry visibly stiffen, before he continued. "I'm not doing it to hurt you, really I'm not, but I really just need a break. I'm so stressed and I feel like I have a pillow being held over my face. Please try to understand."

Harry drew a shuddering breath, biting his lip to the point of almost drawing blood, trying to force the stinging in his eyes to stop. His mind was completely blank. He simply could not register what was happening, but forced himself to respond. "I know you're stressed, I'm not going to force you into not doing what you obviously need to do. You can rest assured I'll be waiting for you," Harry said, forcing a half-hearted smile to his lips.

"Harry," Aarron began, "I don't know how long I'm going to need, I can't openly expect you to just wait and twiddle your thumbs. Besides," he let out an exasperated sigh, "I can't actually promise my return."

Harry sat in shock, and the tears he was so determinedly fighting back moments ago were now spilling freely onto his cheeks, his bottom lip quivering anxiously. Aarron saw this and promptly continued: "I'll never be gone, Harry, even if for some reason we're not together after I figure things out. You're my best friend, a friend I will _always_ value; I never want you completely out of my life, that I can promise." Aarron fell silent and waited for Harry to say something. He looked at the smaller boy and frowned. Harry was crying, his eyes darting about the room before slowly coming to rest on Aarron. He drew a deep breathe before he spoke.

"I pushed too much," he shook his head before he let it fall into his hands, his body shaking with silent sobs. "I really never meant to push, I just tried to be loving and caring, I promise." He looked up at Aarron with sad, green eyes.

"Which you have done spectacularly. You have been, one-hundred and fifty percent, the best boyfriend any one could ever hope for. Most of the time, I'm sure I didn't even deserve it, but you were nonetheless. I just don't know what's up with me. It's nothing you've done at all, it's me." Aarron hoped this would make Harry feel better, but was positive nothing could at this moment. Despite how hurt Harry must have been, Aarron didn't think Harry would ever realize how much it was hurting _him_ to do this. Telling someone you don't want to be with them right now, despite how much you love that person, and to have to sit and watch them cry because of something you're doing by choice was extremely difficult and painful. He absolutely hated seeing Harry so hurt and hated himself more for causing it. Despite all this, he hoped that if he could get his thoughts together and the stress under control, maybe he and Harry could be together and actually be happier, more like a normal couple. He looked at Harry carefully, scooting closer and grabbing a hand, lacing his fingers through the others, Harry looked up at him before laying his head onto Aarron's shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing in his familiar scent,

"I love you, Aarron. I'm really going to miss you," Harry rasped between hitched breaths.

"I'll miss you, too, and you know I love you." Aarron squeezed Harry closer and lifted Harry's face to his with two, light fingers under his chin. His eyes half-closed as he shortened the distance between them and placed a soft, caressing kiss to Harry's lips, tasting the salty tears that had fallen on Harry's soft lips. Harry eagerly reciprocated the kiss before Aarron pulled away, Harry whimpering softly as his eyes slowly opened again. Green eyes met deep-sea blue ones before Aarron stood, pulling Harry up from the couch by his hands, and into a warm hug. After a few long moments, he pulled away and slid on his coat, avoiding Harry's gaze as he did so. "I have to go," he said quietly, almost in a whisper, before heading for the door. "Actually, I think I'll just apparate, it's too bloody cold out." He gave one last, almost longing look at Harry before pulling his wand from within his jacket. "If you ever need to talk, or if you ever just need something, please ring me, alright?" he said, looking expectantly at Harry. Harry just nodded, wrapping his arms around himself.

"I love you," Harry said airily, tears threatening to spill forth again.

"I love you, too," said Aarron. "Take care of yourself, Harry." He took one last look at Harry before disappearing from the flat with a loud 'pop!', leaving Harry in silence, apart from the incessant crackling of the roaring fire.

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

Harry was sharply brought out of his flashback by a loud rapping on his front door. He pulled himself out of the plush window-seat, striding to the front door as the rapping got louder and more insistent. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, grasping the bronze knob. He let out an exasperated sigh before giving the knob a twist and pulling the door into the flat, the hinges creaking softly in the stillness. Harry looked up into a soft face, a kind smile displayed warmly on soft, pink lips.

Harry closed his eyes and let out a small sigh of defeat.

"You can't hide forever, Harry," a small but confident voice said, taking in the appearance of the young man in the doorframe. Maybe that was true, but it was certainly the only thing Harry had felt motivated to do recently, besides going to work. It definitely made this thing called living easier to do.

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_(A/N) So? About them reviews... -waits patiently- :]_


	2. The Unexpected Confidant

_(A/N): Okaaaay! Although I didn't get as many reviews as I would have liked, I appreciate those I did get, and am going to post this anyways. Keep in mind, this story is barely even getting off the ground, for it is going to be a multi-chapter fic - fairly long. Don't be too upset about the apparent lack of Draco so far; I promise, he comes into it before too long, and stays. There is just a bit of background that needs to be told. So, bear with me everyone, I promise LOTS of Harry/Draco goodness in due time. Furthermore, a lot of the plot in this story is being drawn from personal experience, first-hand, actually. As such, writing this makes me face a spectrum of feelings that I don't particularly like to speak of, but I believe that, because of this, I can write a fairly good story and possibly face some of my demons all in one go._

**Disclaimer:**

**I do not own Harry Potter, or any part of the Potterverse. **

**The aforementioned was all devised by the wondrous J.K. Rowling **

_Phew! Sorry about the ridiculously long Author's Note. You're probably shaking your fists at the computer screen about now and shouting, "GET ON WITH IT!" Lol. I oblige:_

_Enjoy! ^-^_

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Chapter One

If there was anything that Harry missed more than his now-absent companion, it was the clever intuit, witty banter, and warm smile of Hermione Granger. He may not have the energy or motivation to do much visiting anymore, but that didn't mean he didn't miss his best friend.

The years that followed their time at Hogwarts and the downfall of a particular Dark Lord had been nothing but kind to Hermione. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, fashionable pony tail, streaming down to her shoulders in a silken ribbon; she had taken to using straightening tonics on her hair ever since spying the ad in _Witch Weekly. _Harry noticed that she must have just left work, for she was dressed very professionally, though not blandly. She donned a charcoal-grey pencil skirt and a red, silk blouse with a flourish of fabric at the lapel; she looked very chic.

"May I come in, or shall we take our tea on the steps?" she huffed, raising an eyebrow for added effect. Harry chuckled and stepped aside to allow her into the apartment, closing the door behind her and leading her into the kitchen.

"Tea, I presume?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrow at his best friend that showed he already knew the answer. Hermione only nodded as she leaned back against the opposite counter, her arms folded across her chest as she watched Harry prepare their tea intently. As Harry cut into a fresh lemon, he could feel Hermione's eyes boring through the back of his head, scrutinizing him with her studious gaze. He felt like he should say something; it had been quite some time since they had last spoke. Immediately following the incident with Aarron, Hermione had taken to visiting every few days, on occasion bringing Ron along, in hopes of cheering Harry up and lifting him from this rut. Her actions had come to no avail, quite obviously. This, however, was the first time she had come around in about two months. He couldn't help himself to wonder what reason was behind it.

Hermione smiled gratefully to him as he finished preparing the tea and held out a mug filled with the piping-hot, sweet-smelling drink. She closed her eyes as she sipped it delicately, Harry following suit, yet accompanied by a loud slurp.

"How have you been, Harry?" she asked, concern now visible in her chocolate eyes, worry stitched evidently into her brows.

"Alright, I suppose, 'Mione," he said with a shrug.

Hermione let out a loud sigh and stared down into her mug, watching the lemon slice swirl whimsically amongst the amber liquid. "Lying is pointless at this point, Harry," she said in an almost-whisper.

Harry studied her for a moment, giving his mind a few spare seconds to formulate a suitable response. Hermione could always see straight through him – hell, anyone for that matter. On more than one occasion he had accused her of being a highly skilled Legilimens. No, he supposed he couldn't lie. "I feel like shit, Hermione," he finally got out, frowning down at his hands that were clasping the mug; his knuckles were white, the blistering-hot ceramic threatening to shatter in his hands.

Hermione lowered her head and shook it slowly from side to side, sighing heavily in exasperation. She walked over to the young man and hooked her arm around his elbow, leading them into the living room. "Let's sit," she said in an unnecessary whisper. He allowed himself to sink heavily into the couch, sitting his tea on the marble table in front of him with a small clatter. "Tell me," she coaxed, holding his unsure gaze with a thoughtful one.

Harry took in a shuddering breath and wrung his hands anxiously. Hermione reached over from her seat beside him and gave him a brief, reassuring pat on the arm, urging him to confide in her. "I don't know what's wrong anymore, 'Mione," his voice was shaking, yet he held his composure. "I just feel like I've had every last inkling of happiness, enthusiasm, and hope drained out of me; like a dementor has been riding on my back . . ." he trailed off as he felt the familiar sting behind his bloodshot eyes.

He drew a deep breath before continuing, "I hardly can find the will to even get out of bed in the mornings. I would much rather lay in bed and cry freely than have to get up and pretend my smile is natural." The previous stinging in his eyes had gave way as the impending tears were now falling helplessly onto his pallid face. He quickly lowered his head to hide his sobs from an all too analytic Hermione.

She looked over her best friends appearance, frowning in deep concern. She had never seen Harry this distraught or this disheveled, not even after the trauma that ensued with the war. She set her mug down beside Harry's and scooted closer to the brunette, holding her gaze as she fought to organize her thoughts into proper sentences. "Harry . . .," she took a breath, "this is still about Aarron, isn't it?" Harry's breath hitched suddenly before he fell into loud, heaving sobs that caused his lithe body to quake. Hermione wrapped an arm around Harry's far too skinny waist, giving him a tender, comforting hug. "Harry, listen to me, okay?" she shook him in the hug gently, trying to get his attention and qualm the man's crying.

Harry breathed heavily and unevenly as she fought to get his crying under control. After several long moments of silence, Harry lifted his head and returned Hermione's concerned stare. Hermione's heart sank as she saw Harry's tear-stained face, accompanied with red eyes and a quivering bottom lip.

"It's completely normal to be sad about what happened with Aarron. I know how much you cared about him , as well as how much you loved the git. You let yourself get too hopeful for him to come back; that's why it hurts so much. Harry, you do have people that care about you and will always be there for you. You don't have to go through it alone," she said, surveying her best friend as she spoke. She emphasized her point of reassurance with a soft kiss pressed to his temple.

Harry picked up his tea once more and drained the last bit of honey liquid with a gulp. Rather than responding immediately he took to studying the few bits of tea leaves that had settled on the bottom of his cup. He remembered back to third year when Professor Trelawney had predicted his early, painful demise, and returned the mug to the table, frowning intensely.

"I know I have people to go to, 'Mione," he spoke suddenly, causing Hermione to start. "I just feel like nothing can ever fill this gaping hole that he left in me. I'm terrified, Hermione." Tears threatening to spill once more, he continued with great effort, "I'm scared that hole will never close; he's the only one who could have ever filled it . . ." he trailed off, his face gleaming once more with freshly shed tears.

Hermione's heart absolutely broke at Harry's words; she never knew his feelings ran this deep for the long since gone man. Harry didn't just love Aarron, it seemed like his very survival depended on him, as though without him he would never 'breathe' again, only fight for air. She knew of course that Harry wouldn't actually die from the separation, but could certainly empathize on how it could feel as such.

"You'll get through this, Harry. I promise. I'll see to it myself," she smiled encouragingly. "It's going to be rough, there's no point in even trying to sugar-coat it, but it's not something you can't do. You're strong, Harry." She reached into his lap and took his hand into hers and squeezed it in an effort to exaggerate her point.

"I don't even know where to start," said Harry, the tiny words barely more than a whisper.

"Have you considered therapy? You know, seeing a psychiatrist?" Her words were low, but confident.

"I'm not a nutter, 'Mione," he said, wincing slightly at the thought.

"Going to a psychiatrist doesn't mean you're mad, Harry. They're simply a listening ear who understands everything about the mind and how people think and act. You're sick, Harry. You may not want to hear it, but you are." She studied him for a moment, taking in her best friend's appearance in detail for the first time. His hair was unruly – more so than usual – and lacked it's normal luster, tufts sticking up haphazardly in all directions. His eyes, which normally brimmed with a piercing ferocity were dull, green orbs, though no longer resembling the stunning emeralds everyone couldn't resist. His skin had lost it's naturally tan glow and resembled the color of a fading scroll of parchment. Though the bespeckled boy always fussed over his appearance, he presently wore only a rumpled pajama shirt and matching bottoms. The Harry she knew always dressed into proper clothing each morning, except maybe if he was sick. All-in-all, Hermione could hardly recognize him. He had also lost a fair amount of weight, she noticied, studying how abnormally loose his pajamas curtained around his lithe frame. This worried the girl the most.

Just promise me that you'll at least think about going to a therapist," she stated, not particularly asking. "And that you'll start eating properly, you look like you barely weigh 50 kilos!" she added, eying him disapprovingly.

Harry nodded meekly, not lifting his eyes from the spot they were fixed onto on the floor. Hermione looked down at the sterling silver watch clasped around her wrist, gasping softly at how long they had been talking.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go, Harry. I promised Molly I would help her with planning Ginny's wedding." She stood, Harry following her action, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. He raised his arms and put as much energy as he could muster into the hug, albeit wasn't much, but Hermione didn't seem to care or notice. "If you ever need me, Harry, all you have to do is drop me an owl, floo, or even ring my mobile, alright?"

"Alright, 'Mione," Harry said, with half-enthusiasm. "Be careful."

She smiled at him warmly before saying, "Take care of yourself, Potter." She giggled softly, trying her best to get a smile out of the brunette with the teasing of his surname, in a very Malfoy-like manner. Sighing in relief – for she succeeded – she gave Harry a little wave before turning and making her way to the sidewalk.

Harry shut the door with a small 'click' before returning to the couch, falling helplessly back into the soft cushions, squirming slightly as he positioned his head comfortably on the small throw pillow. He barely had time to let his mind wander too far before sleep hastily claimed him.

**x X x X x**

Harry stood in the midst of a stretching, snow-covered street, his brow furrowed in confusion, jade eyes squinting into the semi-darkness, relieved only by a single street lamp. Instead of an amber glow, however, the light that spilled onto the snow and surrounding street and was merely a cold grey; it did not welcome or comfort Harry, only gave him the feeling of crippling anxiety in his chest, which tightened and clenched uncomfortably.

"Harry . . ." a voice echoed behind him. Startled, Harry yelped and spun around quickly, his foot sliding dangerously on a patch of ice, almost toppling him to the ground. His face froze in shock as Aarron's soft but somber face stared evenly into his watery eyes. Harry searched those familiar cerulean orbs for comfort, for safety; for warmth. Unconsciously, he brought his hand up to the other man's face, wanting nothing more than to feel Aarron's skin beneath his fingers, to reassure himself that it truly was _Aarron _that stood before him.

_Was _he 'his' Aarron? Sure he stood mere inches from Harry, staring deeply into Harry's eyes, but he still had been the one to leave; leaving Harry alone to cry silently into his pillow every night. Harry's hand had been just millimeters away from his ex-lover's soft face, before, to Harry's terror, he began to recede into the darkness slowly; excruciatingly slowly. Harry whimpered, and tried to follow when he realized that his feet were frozen in place, his legs paralyzed by some unknown force.

As he watched the beautiful man slip into growing darkness, the hot tears that had been stinging his eyes began to fall from his reddened lids, trailing icy paths to his strong chin. He tried to call out to the other boy, but all that came out was an unearthly silence. Quiet tears became wrenching sobs as Aarron was engulfed in the distant night. Harry's knees buckled unexpectedly and he fell in a crumpled heap to the deep snow. Harry's head fell back as a silent wail escaped his chapped lips, his tears glittering against his flushed cheeks. The street lamp flickered menacingly before extinguishing, throwing Harry into the same freezing darkness that had claimed his love. If one could have seen Harry through the pressing night, they would have found him hugging himself, still crying soundless sobs into the chilly air.

**x X x X x**

Harry awoke to silence, feeling his drying tears still clinging to his hot, flushed cheeks. He was trembling slightly, which was usually the case when he would awaken from his recurring nightmare. The room was aglow from the light of a nearby street lamp shining through the window across the room.

He stood slowly, his legs adjusting to the weight that was burdened onto his tingling legs; they trembled precariously. He repositioned his stylish frames onto his nose, which had fallen askew during his restless nap on the couch, and made his way down the narrow hall, feeling his way through the silent darkness.

Reaching his room, he pushed the door open and made his way wearily to his large bed, falling in an exhausted heap on a tangle of soft sheets and his down duvet. He weakly managed to get himself partially tucked beneath the covers and sighed heavily into the silence.

He already knew where the rest of his night was going. It had, after all, become monotonous routine. After falling asleep for an hour or so and had 'the dream', he would awake, drag himself to his room – if he wasn't already there – and lay in silence, thinking, usually crying until it was time to get up and go to work.

The whole process was insatiable torment, but no matter what form of sleep aide Harry tried, it all proved to be mere exercises in futility. He had learned that there was nothing to be done, so he had just allowed himself a dignified surrender. He began to think; his mind predictably going where it always did at this time of night. Harry sighed, his breath shuddering as the familiar sting began to build behind his eyes, accompanied by a tightening within his chest. He rolled over to find a more comfortable position on his side, pulling a pillow into his arms and hugged it tightly.

As he lay there alone in the middle of the large bed, he wished with whatever enthusiasm he could gather that he didn't have to work in the morning. As much as he loved his job, his heart just wasn't in it as much as it had been when he first began the job. He worked for a local muggle magazine as a journalist, having became interested in writing not long after the war. His dream had been to eventually work for a fashion magazine, being avidly interested in style and design, but knew he had to slowly gain the experience and credentials needed to work for anything fashion-forward; the world of fashion was vicious, but he wanted it more than anything.

With everything that had been weighing on him it had been hard to throw himself into his work like he truly needed to. Every time he began to write an article his mind would divert his attention immediately to something Aarron related. It seemed that anything could remind him of his love, even something as simple as having a cup of tea with lemon; Aarron took his tea this was as well. No matter what he did to try and distract himself, he always ended up thinking about the man. He could never escape him, and thought he would never be able to escape him. He was everywhere. Being used to talking to him to such a degree, he always found himself looking at his mobile hopefully, thinking that today could be the day he contacted him, but each day went by without any word from him, and yet Harry continued to look for him. Harry refused to tell himself that he would never call, despite the fact that his mind screamed this to him every second of every day.

Harry rolled over to look at his alarm clock; half midnight. Just the thought of the silent hours ahead that would be spent fighting with his thoughts made him shiver, the gnawing feeling in his chest increasing in severity. He buried his face into his pillow and, for a split second, caught a whiff of Aarron's characteristic aroma. He knew the smell didn't exist on his bed clothes, not anymore at least, and mentally cursed his brain for playing such foul tricks on him. He closed his eyes and imagined the boy laying behind him, an arm wrapped comfortingly around his waste, his chest pressed firmly against his back, their legs tangled around the other's, feet rubbing softly together. That was one thing Harry missed the most; feeling Aarron beside him in his bed, hugging him protectively, and their feet brushing together softly. That had been something they would do out of habit. Harry could always tell when Aarron was falling asleep, because his feet would always find Harry's and would stroke them together slowly and smoothly until sleep captured both of them; it was their own, personal lullaby, it always put Harry to sleep.

Harry rubbed his feet together, trying desperately to mimic the action, sighing softly at how ineffective it was. He missed the boy so much. How was he ever to get on normally? Tears once again fell silently to the soft pillow, stained from many a night's crying. "Goodnight, baby," Harry whispered, trying with all of his might to comfort himself as he closed his eyes and hugged the pillow in his arms with crushing force. He wrapped the covers more securely around him and lay unmoving, waiting patiently for the sun to peak over the skyline and stream into his room, so he could begin yet another day, just so he could repeat the process all over again.

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_(A/N): This chapter was actually shorter when I first uploaded it, but at the last minute I added the now-current ending, which I think gives this chapter much more meaning behind Harry's dilemma. I'm happy with how this story is beginning to take flight. Even if I never got a single review, I would still be overly pleased; writing this forces me to climb over my own walls, which is proving to be a difficult feat. I hope those of you that have read and reviewed, though, stick with me. It's nice to know people are interested in a story that is based on things I myself have gone through._

___Also, I'm looking for someone who would like to Beta this for me. I'm somewhat of a perfectionist, but still I have caught some mistakes in my posts after they've gone public. So, if anyone is interested, just let me know in a review. =]_

_As for updates, I plan on posting a new chapter each week. As for the day, I can't quite be exact. It usually takes about a week for me to write and perfect it, so as soon as it's finished, it will be posted. _

_I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Please, review! I LOVE hearing what people think. =]_

_Wow, I talk far too much! See you next update! ^-^_

_-D_


	3. Good Seeing You

_(A/N): I feel bad that I made everyone wait for this chapter. I promise everyone weekly updates from now on, but the past two weeks have been rough on me. I've been rather depressed and hardly found the motivation to actually sit down and write. To make up for the wait, though, I made this chapter longer than the last. I know it may not be much, but, given the circumstances, I tried. Lol. I dedicated the whole day to getting this finished and typed out. I just now finished typing it, and it's about 4:30am here, so, I'm quite proud of myself for kicking my own ass. Anyways, you've waited long enough, and I'm talking too much. =P_

**Disclaimer:**

**Please don't sue! I own nothing! Everyone belongs to JK Rowling!**

**Besides, I have no money. =S**

_Enjoy!_

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**Chapter Two:**

**Good Seeing You**

The sun had peeked over the darkened horizon, bathing the quiet, sleeping city of London in clean, golden-pink light. Somewhere on the corner of Rodgers Street and Medowlark a sliver of the early morning light spilled into a charming apartment nestled quaintly amongst a small patch of silver birch.

Harry Potter was curled beneath his duvet in the small, comfortable chair situated beside the large window overlooking Medowlark Avenue. He was quiet and his hair was thoroughly mussed; he cradled a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and stared blankly into the brightening summer sky. Another sleepless night, another day to pretend that nothing was wrong; he wanted to be sick. He took a long drink from his mug and relished in the taste of caffeinated heaven washing over his tongue.

Coffee, apart from specific people at the present, had always been there for him. The moment Hermione had taken him to Starbucks for the first time he had become instantaneously hooked. It had been the best coffee he had ever tasted. A non-fat Venti quad Caramel Machiatto had remained, to this day, his favorite drink. He had even taken to buying Starbucks coffee by the bag; he drank about 2-3 pots of it in a day. Hermione had blamed the caffeine-overload for his sleeplessness, but Harry assured her that the problem was much more complicated than an abundance of caffeine.

Finishing the last of his coffee with a gulp, Harry stood from his cozy spot in his chair, letting the soft duvet fall to the hardwood floor in a warm heap. He padded across the room to the bathroom and turned on the taps of the sink. After checking the water for a comfortable temperature, he dipped his hands beneath the streaming water and splashed his face, massaging his skin to awaken his sluggish senses.

He sulked back into his bedroom, drying his face on a small towel and sat with a huff on the edge of his bed. Glancing at his alarm clock, he saw that it was 7:42am, and cursed softly under his breath. He had to be at work at nine, and he dreaded it like the plague. Finding energy he didn't think he could muster, he stood and made his way to the kitchen, collecting his empty coffee mug from the floor beside the chair with the determined intention to refill it as soon as possible.

As he rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, he did just that; taking the half-full pot from its warmer and poured his mug full, leaving just enough room for a splash of milk. Sipping his coffee delicately, he slid into the dining room and took a seat at the oak table directly in front of his MacBook and opened it; he had an article to turn in today and wanted to proofread it for the ten-thousandth time to be absolutely sure it was perfect. His boss was a prick, and liked to be annoyingly picky about all of the articles to be printed in the magazine, but overall he was an alright guy, but Harry didn't like to try his patience more than was required. He skimmed quickly through the document, inserting a comma here or an apostrophe there, before resigning to the fact that his article was as good as he was going to get it. He shut the computer and stood, placing his empty mug in the sink before heading to his en suite to have a long, hot shower before he had to get ready for work.

Wrapping his bath robe around his dripping form, he emerged from the steam-engulfed bathroom and crossed over to his wardrobe, staring into the collection of clothes, trying futilely to decide what to wear. He finally decided on khakis and a green button-up, the one that made his eyes glisten enchantingly. He rolled his sleeved up to reveal tanned, toned forearms and fought with his severely tousled hair to tame it into some reasonable 'style'.

He looked at his watch and saw that it was half-eight and padded into the kitchen to fill his travel mug with his decadent brew before putting his computer into his satchel and heading out the front door.

**x X x X x**

In the many months that Harry had been working for _Royal_ he had never experienced a day quite like this one was becoming. So far, the copier had jammed on him - twice, he had spilled coffee on his desk, and Emily, the receptionist, had forgotten to forward two of his calls from very important contacts; today was turning out to be a disaster, and it was only eleven.

Working on his fifth cup of coffee, Harry's fingers pounded away at his keyboard as he began his latest assignment. In lieu of everything that had happened earlier that morning, Harry had developed a splitting migraine. Resting his fingers, Harry removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to relieve the pressure that had manifested in his brain. The throbbing only intensified when the phone on his desk rang sharply, startling him from his moment of rest. He slid his glasses back onto his nose and picked up the reciever, "Potter," he chimed with mock enthusiasm.

"You're sounding better, Harry," Hermione spoke cooly.

"A mere requirement for work, 'Mione," he chuckled.

"Of course. What time do you get off, love?," Hermione inquired.

Harry sighed softly; he half-hoped Hermione didn't have another one of her 'let's boost Harry's confidence by taking him out for dinner and drinks' nights planned. "Five-thirty, why?," he asked, biting his lip in anticipation.

"Straight to the point, eh Harry?," she laughed. "I thought you might accompany me to dinner tonight." Hermione stopped to wait on Harry's response.

"I don't know, Hermione. You'll find I'm not as fun as I used to be," Harry sighed.

"Harry, you haven't been yourself since you and Aarron got together, not since you two broke up," Hermione sounded the slightest bit reproachful.

"What do you mean, Hermione?" Harry was curious as to what his best friend was on about.

"You never hung out with anyone when you were with Aarron, and don't say you were just busy, Harry, I know for a fact that's a load of bollocks. You told me before, when you guys would fight, that he didn't like you having friends. Bloody hell, Harry, I hardly heard from you when you two were together, let alone saw you," she finished with a huff of exasperation, breathing heavily into the receiver from her rant on his ex-lover's ways. She knew what she had said was bound to strike some nerves, but it was the truth and she had to at least get it off her chest.

Harry dropped his gaze and fiddled with the papers on his desk. He wasn't sure what hurt more: that Hermione felt the need to bring this topic to the forefront when he was still trying to cope with the separation, or, that everything Hermione said had been nothing but the complete truth. He fought back the tears that were dangerously close to spilling over his eyelids. "I know, Hermione, but do you think we can save the heart-to-heart for dinner tonight?" He could almost hear the smile in Hermiones voice:

"I think that sounds brilliant, Harry," she squeaked. "I'll come over around 7:30?"

Harry let a smile graze his lips, "Sounds great." They said their goodbyes and Harry returned to his computer; If he didn't get this article up to speed and ready for print, he would have a very pissy boss to put up with.

**x X x X x**

Harry slid his favorite pair of dark jeans up his toned legs and buttoned the fly effortlessly. He pulled a striped, blue button-up from its hanger on the over-door hook and pulled it onto his shoulders. He had carefully taken his time in choosing what he would wear tonight; it was hard seeing as how he hadn't gotten dressed-up in quite some time. Smoothing out a few non-existent wrinkles in his shirt he checked the time: 7:15pm. It had been difficult to keep from falling asleep as soon as he stepped foot into his flat after such a pressing day at work, but he had made a large pot of strong coffee, and it seemed the caffeine had done the trick, for now at least.

He took a quick glance in the mirror and tried hopelessly - for the second time that day - to tame his unruly hair. Admitting defeat, he sprayed himself with a sparing mist of his Vera Wang cologne and padded into the living room; Harry noted that his heart was pounding and his hands were trembling. Why was he so nervous? Sure, he hadn't been 'out' in a long time, but it wasn't like Hermione was setting him up with a blind date; she had promised him that she had only done that once and would never try it again. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and walked to the small table beside him armchair, opening the drawer below the ornate marble top. He withdrew a silver and aqua-coloured box and an orange lighter. He pulled a cigarette from the box and put it to his lips, igniting the end and drawing the crisp smoke into his lungs. He blew the smoke out again into the air above him and sighed. Harry rarely smoked but when he did he reveled in it; nicotine had a way of taking the edge off his frayed nerves. He took a sip of coffee from his half-emptied mug and smiled inwardly; coffee and cigarettes went together like lemon and basil. Harry chuckled softly at his analogy and thought for a moment. It had been ages since he had cooked a decent meal at home. Normally, he was a whiz in the kitchen and could make the most scrumptious meals, but he had to have his heart in it to do so properly and lately that wasn't possible. His heart, after-all, was in a state of disrepair.

Harry was yanked from his thoughts as his door was rapped on loudly, signaling Hermione's arrival. He took a final drag from his Marlboro Smooth before he snuffed it out in a clean ashtray he had taken from the drawer as well and stood, taking the few steps to the front door to let Hermione in. She stood before him in her very stylish jeans and equally flattering blouse complete with, what Harry guessed, Jimmy Choo pumps.

"Oh good, you freshened up a bit," Hermione chirped, flashing him a cheeky grin. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, 'Mione. I figured I should since I came down from the bell tower and had my hump fixed." Harry mock glared at her as she giggled fervidly.

"C'mon, you," she said, "I'm starving." Hermione grabbed his hands and pulled him through the door frame. He fumbled with his keys for a moment as he locked the door before allowing Hermione to link her arm through his as they made their way through the twilight.

The walk to the restaurant was fairly silent, save for the random conversation about work or Hermione's recent activities with Ginny's wedding planning. The walk took about ten minutes, but they didn't rush; the night blooming before them was too lovely to take for granted. Harry broke the silence, "Where's Ron, 'Mione?"

"He's still in Italy, working on some Ministry business. I don't know, it's not like he tells me these things or anything," Hermione smacked her lips and sighed, shaking her head slightly in mock-disdain.

"Who would have thought Ronald Weasley would be the career-oriented workaholic?," Harry chuckled to himself. Hermione's distinct cackle cut through the air and they soon were a giggling, stumbling mess, struggling to walk and stay upright, their arms still locked in vice. They slowly composed themselves and soon found they were outside the restaurant Hermione had chosen for their dinner date. It was a lovely, modern restaurant in one of the more posh areas of London; Harry had been here a number of times with Him, but he quickly shoved the thought away. He had full intentions for this evening to remain pleasant and enjoyable.

The place was fantastic; there were dozens of ambient lanterns throwing warm pools of light in all corners of the restaurant and quiet jazz playing behind a dull clamor of quiet conversations. They found a table near the rear of the room and were approached by a handsome looking young man, wearing a white button-up tucked into sleek, black trousers, pulled together by a black necktie. "What can I get you to drink?," he asked, his pen poised on his notepad expectantly.

"I'll have a Chardonnay," Hermione said decisively. The waiter's pen moved vigorously before he turned to Harry, smiling softly.

"I'll have one as well," he said pointedly. The pen moved again before the waiter introduced himself as Chad and turned to fetch their wines, chancing a wink in Harry's direction before doing so. Harry's eyes darted to his flatware, picking up his fork to turn it nervously between his fingertips. Hermione watched him carefully.

"Harry, you shouldn't be so nervous. He just winked at you. I mean, look at you, who wouldn't," she laughed. "Besides, it's not as if he dropped his trousers and asked you to have a go," she sighed; Harry blushed. "Just don't think of things like that right now. We're here to have a lovely dinner and catch up." She touched his hand to reassure him further and the tension in his shoulders began to loosen. She was right; this was no time to be paranoid or anxious. This was dinner with his best friend.

Chad returned moments later with their wine and took their orders. Again, Chad seemed to have locked his eyes more firmly on Harry than Hermione and held a very goofy grin on his face. Harry couldn't lie and say that it didn't make him uncomfortable, but it was unnerving to say the least. _'Just ignore it._'

Hermione spoke and cut the silence like a hot knife, "So, what's been going on, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, "Nothing really, work–"

"Not that," she interrupted, "I mean, with_ you_. How do you _feel_?" Hermione's eyes were pensive; they held concern and worry.

Harry bit his lip hard. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to have this conversation even though he knew he had been running for far too long. He drew a shaky breath before he spoke, "Numb is the only true way to describe it. Like I'm not whole." He let his gaze fall again. He could taste the metallic liquid pooling from the gash he had dug into his lip and licked his dry lips. "He broke me down and just left me to pull myself back together. I just don't understand how someone who says they love you and care about you can just up and leave, and not even try to talk to them, even if it's just to make sure they're okay. Especially since the someone they left gave them everything. I gave him everything I had, Hermione. I would give my life for him. He obviously just doesn't care, but I tell myself that he'll come back. That after he has had time to think and get things straight he will want to pick up where we left off . . ." Harry trailed off, his eyes becoming glassy with impending tears the more he poured out the feelings that normally were kept under lock and key inside him.

Hermione's eyes matched the teary gleam of Harry's, though hers held a more analytic feel. She studied him for a few minutes, carefully choosing her words before enunciating them "Harry," she began, "think about this for me: If he did come back, would you really want to put yourself through this again? He loves controlling you. He hates you having friends, he never trusted you, and for what?" She paused for a moment to take in Harry's expression of despair. "Everyone knows how much you love him, Harry, but you shouldn't let someone control every aspect of your life. That can't make you happy! I know for a fact that there is someone out there who will love you and give themselves to you mind, body, and soul, and that person will make you so happy you'll start saying 'Aarron who?'," she saw Harry flinch slightly, but kept going, "I'm not telling you what you should do, because you've had too much of that already. All I'm saying is you, of all people, deserve to be happy. I have never met someone as kind, generous, sweet, and loving as you, and it blows my mind as to how Aarron can't even appreciate that." Hermione took a deep breath and clasped her hands with Harry's, shooting him her characteristic sweet smile before concluding, "I just want you to be happy, love."

Harry's tears began to fall freely from his forest eyes as he let Hermione interlock their fingers. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. As for now, all he could do to show he had understood what she had said was to nod; his heart wasn't ready for such open exclamations on the subject just yet.

His tears slowly subsided and his breathing returned to its normal rhythm. He wiped the leftover tears from his cheeks with the heel of his hand before he flashed a smile gingerly at Hermione, muttering a tiny "I'm fine" to her quietly. "I thought I might check into some therapists in town," he said with finality. Hermione's smile only brightened.

"I think that's a marvelous idea, Harry," she said, patting his hand soothingly. They barely had time to draw their hands from the center of the table before Chad had returned with their food. Harry just then realized how starving he was before he tucked into his Greek salad. They chatted idly as they each savored their meals and their wine, talking more about work and Hermione telling Harry about Ginny's upcoming marriage to Dean Thomas. They were both startled as a cool, silky voice rose from behind Harry:

"Hello, Hermione," the voice drawled. Harry was about to turn and look for the owner of that sweet voice before a tall, slender blonde appeared beside the table, smiling happily at Hermione.

"Oh, hi, Draco," she said cheerily, returning the smile. "What brings you here?" Harry's eyes roved over the man before him, taking in his appearance appreciatively. Draco Malfoy was dressed in business casual attire, his platinum hair hanging precisely about his delicate brow, as if each strand of the golden locks was placed, one by one, carefully into the perfect position. His bright, grey eyes sparkled vividly and his pink lips were curled into a warm smile. Harry noted, to himself, in the back of his mind that he looked very handsome.

"I'm having dinner with Pansy," he said in a slightly bored tone. "She's grating my nerves a bit but what are friends for?" He laughed, almost to himself, joined thereafter by Hermione. Harry had turned his emerald eyes, still holding evidence of his recent tears, back to his plate before he was discovered staring at the gorgeous blonde. He, too, had laughed with Malfoy and Hermione, albeit more quietly, but it didn't go unnoticed by the other two.

Draco Malfoy turned his gaze to the brunette man sitting across from Hermione, having not paid attention to who it was before. He had not seen the man's face, but he could recognize that unruly black hair anywhere. He caught Hermione's eye and motioned with his head to the man, arching an eyebrow and mouthing "Harry?" She nodded quickly, studying Malfoy with her chocolate eyes, the gears and cogs of her brain working relentlessly. Malfoy knew that look; she had that look whenever she was formulating a plan or when she was piecing together something of conflict. Malfoy ignored her and turned to Harry.

"Hi, Harry," he said, his smile fading when Harry looked up at him. Harry's eyes were sort-of puffy, like he had been crying not long ago.

Harry gave him a quizzical look at the casual tone of which his first name rolled off Malfoy's tongue, but shrugged it off, smiling the best he could at the ex-Slytherin. "Hello, Draco."

Draco smiled again at hearing Harry use his first name. Hermione looked at him, noticing his eyes gliding over Harry slowly. Draco locked eyes with Hermione, shrugging and flashing her his signature smirk before speaking, "I guess I should be getting back to Pans'. It was good seeing you, Hermione. You too, Harry." Harry looked up at Draco, giving him a nod as Draco flashed him a grin and winked. This, however, did not go unnoticed by Hermione, then again, not many things did. She smiled to herself, noting Harry's cheeks had turned a delicate shade of pink.

As Harry continued his meal, Hermione sipped her wine, losing herself in thought. Her mind was working overtime to process the onslaught of thoughts and she smiled to herself again, masking it from Harry's view with her glass of wine. She was so lost in thought she didn't realize that some of her thinking had actually verbalized:

"I wonder . . ." she whispered. Harry looked up from his salad, a look of bewilderment plastered upon his features.

"What?," he asked.

Hermione was jarred from her thoughts and realized the slip she had made. Biting her lip, she composed herself and smiled warmly at Harry. "Nothing, love. More wine?".

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_(A/N): Reviews would be lovely. The more reviews I get, the more motivation and inspiration I seem to find. Funny how that works, eh? _

_And I'm still looking for a Beta. If anyone's interested, just let me know._

_This time I promise a continuation in a weeks time, no more fortnights. Lol._

_=]_

_-D_


	4. Taboo Thinking

_(A/N): Okay, so, feel free to badger me with wooden sticks. This chapter is WAY later than I had planned on, but, I recently got a new job and any time I wasn't at work, I spent sleeping. I know, I'm lazy, but my body wasn't used to working. LOL But, I'm off tomorrow (YAY!) so I spent the night finishing and proofreading this chapter so my **lovely **readers could enjoy it - and hopefully, review it! =D_

_AND, it's a little bit longer than the last chapter, not much, but hey, and accomplishment is an accomplishment, right?_

_**Disclaimer:**_

_** J.K. Rowling owns the lot. But the plot's mine.**_

_**So please don't sue, I'm terrified of court. =P**_

_Anyways, I won't keep you any longer, and again, I'M SORRY! Enjoy:_

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**Chapter Three:**

**Taboo Thinking**

The drone of talking and laughter bore down on Harry incessantly. His head hung lowly between his shoulders as he stared idly at his long island ice tea, watching in amusement as the ice cubes bobbed whimsically within the dark liquid. He slowly lifted his head to stare out the dark window into the warm night air, the sky littered with thousands of twinkling stars and a foreboding moon that cast the grey streets in a silver glow.

Harry was having trouble keeping himself in the plane of consciousness; his mind was swirling with thoughts and memories that had formed a fog that hung heavily around his brain, leaving him currently unaware of where he was. This happened often, usually at times of intense depression or anxiety. He figured the alcohol that was currently coursing through his system could very well be adding to this effect, but it wasn't like it was escapable once it happened.

Through the dense, white fog surrounding his senses, he could make out a face; the face of Him. He had become a daily haunt for his mind and despite how long it had been since he had seen the man, every detail of the face was dubiously replicated to a tee. He remembered every hair, every freckle, every curve of His beautiful features; the way his full lips always seemed to pout, the way his eyes would light up when he was happy or excited, every expression his manicured eyebrows had ever formed. He had him memorized, and Harry absently thought, somewhere in the far corners of his mind how pathetic he seemed, or rather, how pathetic he _must_ seem to the outside world, but he never thought much of how anyone else viewed his feelings for Him. That seemed to be Harry's greatest dilemma; the fact that _no one_ would ever understand the complexity and depths of every emotion he felt for Aarron. He made it a clear point to never unveil those feelings for that exact reason. Why tell anyone about it when in the end they wouldn't understand every aspect of his rationale anyway?

Therefore, Harry kept these feelings under lock an key, in the only part of his heart that still showed signs of life and vitality; the only part that had the will to keep his blood flowing through his very veins. The rest of which were charred to a black and ashen lump, which encased every happy memory and every dire thought pertaining to Him that passed through his subconscious. Here was where Harry had been living for the past several months, where Harry found was a place where he could keep Aarron alive in some twisted, macabre way. The thoughts that leaked from this destructed place had the ability to warp and bend his very thought process, and, if left to fester, could drive Harry into a realm of madness, that scared even him. These thoughts filled his body and spread like poison, infecting him until he was nothing more than a rotting shell of false hope and frivolous 'what ifs'.

Currently, Harry had allowed himself, with the gentle urging of the liquor, to feel the effects of this poison, which had pulled him into the depths of his burned heart like a manic Grindylow. How could he have let himself get so attached to someone that functioning without them proved an almost impossible feat? For Harry, love had been such a rare thing for most of his life that he actually craved it, like a drug; a hardcore one. Harry absently thought about how rough heroin addicts must have it while enduring a 90 day pass through treatment. Although, he couldn't help but feel that this had to be worse. Affairs of the heart, especially when that heart has been used for target practice, are very intertwined with every part of the body. If ones heart is left to flat-line, metaphorically speaking, the mind will soon follow, and without the heart or the brain, what is a person but a walking, breathing shell. Sure, they breathe, they walk, they work, they live; but do they really? Harry certainly couldn't call his current existence living.

He once thought that he would never have to worry about happiness again. He had Aarron, he had a career, he had friends, but it's funny how one of those things went wrong and suddenly they all nosedive into perpetual death. But wait a minute . . . friends? Did he have friends back then? His mind, picking up on the fragmented thought, careened him into a dizzying flashback sometime last year.

X x X x X

He and Aarron were at Harry's flat, watching TV under a blanket. Harry's attention was focused intently upon the screen across the room, as Aarron stared down at the mobile in his hands. The mobile was Harry's; his heart pounded menacingly in his throat. Harry had no idea why he felt so nervous; he hadn't done anything, would never do anything that would make Aarron question his fidelity, yet still, Aarron insisted he 'check up' on Harry occasionally, just to qualm his nerves. Sometimes, he would find a text or call that seemed suspicious, and would question Harry mercilessly, determined to 'catch him in something', as he liked to say.

Despite all the checking, Harry was never proved of anything, yet, just to make him feel better, Aarron would insist that he delete and never talk to the person again that had made him so suspicious. So far, Harry was no longer allowed to speak to Dean, Seamus, Ginny, all of his co-workers outside of the office, Ron and his family, and any male he also attended Hogwarts with. Aarron was currently running through the list of text messages between Hermione and himself, for Hermione was the only person with a mobile he was still allowed to text.

"What's this, huh?" Aarron asked in a 'Gotcha!' sort-of tone.

"What's what?" Harry replied, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"This here, what were you two talking about? Tell me! And don't lie. If you do, I won't talk to you for a week." Aarron threatened.

Harry reached into Aarron's hands and pulled the mobile from his grasp, sighing audibly and reading the text aloud. "I'm so happy for you, Harry! Honestly, he thinks you're amazing!!" Harry turned to look at Aarron, who was wearing a smug look upon his features, staring at Harry impatiently, waiting for an explanation. Harry sighed once more before speaking, in the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster, "She was talking about her friend Corey." Aarron's nose flared in rage, before Harry quickly continued, "He knows the editor of _Avant Garde_ and he read through some of my portfolio pieces. He liked them and was going to try and show them to the Editor In-Chief of the magazine."

"You're so full of shit!" Aarron growled, blowing out a puff of angry air from his nostrils, slumping down into the couch and staring at the television.

"I swear! Ask Hermione! I don't know why you think I would cheat on you. It's barking mad! You have to know I care more about you than to do that!" Harry cried, desperately trying to convince his boyfriend of the truth.

"I really don't trust you Harry. Hermione probably wants you two to hook up or something. I don't want you to talk to her anymore." Aarron stated simply.

Harry stared at Aarron in disbelief, his jaw practically slamming to the hardwood floor with an inaudible 'thud'. "She's my best friend! The only person I talk to anymore! You really think she would do something like that?!"

"It's either that, or we're through, Harry. My mind's made up." Harry was on the verge of tears as Aarron continued, "I thought you said you cared about me, said that you love me. If you love me so much, why wouldn't you want to make me happy? You talking to her makes me unhappy." Aarron looked at Harry deeply, taking in his appearance.

Harry turned his gaze to his hands folded awkwardly in his lap, turning his thoughts over and over again in his mind. Slowly, he brought his eyes back up to meet the other man's, mumbling softly, "Okay, I won't talk to her anymore."

Aarron smiled sweetly, looking Harry over once more, speaking again in a gentle tone, "I'm all you need, aren't I,?" His eyes sparkled and his lips looked so soft to Harry, and Harry couldn't deny the fact that Aarron was absolutely beautiful. He had always said that Aaron was all he needed in this world, that if he only had him, he would be just fine. Aarron was his life, his very breathe, and he was, in fact, all he needed to be happy. Hermione was his best friend, and the thought of losing her along with Ron hurt terribly, but he kept reminding himself that he would do anything for Aarron, and what Aarron wanted was him to himself. That's a good thing . . .right? He didn't want to share Harry with anyone, that clearly showed how much he loved Harry . . . didn't it?

Harry shook his head and smiled, "Of course you are, baby." Harry scooted closer to Aaron as the other boy brought his feet up into the couch and lowered his head into Harry's lap. Harry instinctually entwined his finger's in the other's hair, massaging his scalp lovingly. "I love you, baby," Harry whispered.

Aarron shifted and yawned widely, giving Harry's thigh a light squeeze, "I love you."

X x X x X

"Harry!" Hermione's shrill voice echoed piercingly through his clouded brain and he was sharply pulled from the recesses of his own thought and planted heavily back into the chair before Hermione. His eyes came back into focus and Hermione's face, creased with worry and concerned, stared back at him, her eyes frantically searching his face for something.

"What?" Harry asked, having absolutely no idea what had been going on.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice shaky and dripping in concern.

"Yea, fine. Sorry, just zoned out a bit," Harry admitted, lowering his gaze back to his drink, gripping his fingers around the cold, wet glass and taking a large gulp of the strong liquid, his throat tingling as the alcohol washed over his dry throat.

"You sat there and stared out the window for a good 20 minutes. I must have said your name a dozen times. You're sure you feel alright?" she locked her gaze with Harry's green orbs and tried to coax Harry into telling her the truth.

"Just thinking, 'Mione. Whenever I start thinking about, Him, I tend to zone out and get lost in thinking . . ." Harry trailed off, the corners of his mouth falling into a small frown.

"Harry, I know it's hard, but you need to try and not think about Him so much. All it's doing is driving you mad. You're going to have to try and move on." Hermione noticed the dulling of Harry's features and quickly interjected, "You don't have to completely forget about him, he was a big part of your life, but just try and push it to the back of your mind. Focus on your work more, focus on having fun."

"Fun seems to be alluding me lately," Harry mumbled, his frown falling even more.

Hermione grabbed for his hand across the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know, love. It'll seem that way for a while. But things will get better, I promise you. Your heart will heal in time, but if you keep sitting and thinking and getting lost in these overwhelming thoughts about Aarron, you'll never heal, and your heart will stay broken. All it takes is time. Im here for you, Harry, you know that. Day or night, if you need me, all you have to do is call, or floo. Hell, apparate to my flat and tell me to wake my arse up, I'll be there." Hermione finished with a chuckle, squeezing his hand once more and smiling brightly at him. Harry gingerly returned the smile, taking another sip of his cocktail and giving Hermione's fingers an appreciative squeeze.

Slowly, with the ingestion of more alcohol, Harry's mind slowly lost control over his conscious, and he was able to have fun a little more easily, even if only for the time being. He and Hermione had come to a small pub just down the street after dinner, and were currently on their second round of drinks. Hermione's cheeks had flushed a gentle shade of pink as the alcohol of her first slow gin fizz made its presence known to her body. Harry, having feared becoming too smashed, had passed on a second LIT and had ordered a slow gin fizz as well. To this day, he wondered who had ever come up with the idea to mix so many different liquors together and call it 'tea'. Nonetheless, he commended them, whoever they were, for he enjoyed it quite a bit, but too much of it tended to put him on the floor long before he was ready.

He and Hermione had chatted, quite enthusiastically, for the past 20 minutes or so about nothing in particular. She had told him that Corey had wondered what had happened to Harry after he had read his portfolio pieces and was curious as to if Harry was still interested in working for _Avant Garde_. Of course he was, that was his dream!

"Absolutely! Merlin, I've been so drowned out in emotion lately it had hardly crossed my mind. Yes, tell him I definitely am." Harry resounded, becoming excited at the prospect of still being able to work for a magazine as astute as _Avant Garde_.

Hermione smiled happily at him, her eyes twinkling with knowing, "See, Harry! Things are looking good already!"

Harry smiled sheepishly at her. She had a point. At least maybe his career would take a turn for the better. Their attention was suddenly grabbed as two people came to halt at their table, smiling happily.

"I'm starting to think the two of you are following me!" the blond laughed, smiling widely at the two in turn.

"He's onto us, Harry! Let's bolt!" Hermione giggled, making Harry's smile widen, a chuckle escaping his pink lips.

Draco laughed harder, then gestured to the two empty chairs at their table. "You mind if we join you?"

They both shook their heads and the blond and a pretty looking woman in her mid-20's sat down in the two remaining chairs. "This is my cousin Sophi. She's deaf, but she can sign and read lips. I translate for her when she needs me to."

Hermione looked at Draco, astonished. "You know sign language?"

Draco nodded and folded his arms, "Yeah, she taught me when we were little." He turned to Sophi and smiled.

Harry, smiling at the opportunity, tapped the blonde woman on the shoulder to get her attention, before his hands whirled into lividity. "Hi, my name's Harry. It's nice to meet you," he signed.

Sophi smiled brightly as her hands, too, jumped into movement, "My name is Sophie. Likewise."

Hermione looked at Harry, her mouth hanging idly open, matching that of Draco's look of surprised shock.

"Since when did you learn to sign, Harry?" Hermione asked, astonished at not knowing this tidbit of information sooner. Draco's and Sophi's eyes both turned to him, Draco watching in both amazement and wonder.

Continuing his signing for Sophi's sake as he spoke, known as SimCom (Simultaneous Communication), Harry spoke, "I learned about 2 years ago. Ashley, a girl I work with, is hard-of-hearing, and she started teaching me a little. Now, I guess you could say I'm fluent. Ashley seems to think so."

Harry caught Draco's eyes, as he had been eyeing him since he began signing to Sophi. Draco smiled warmly at Harry, before breaking their stare and dropping his eyes to his hands folded on the table in front of him.

Catching Harry's attention with a small wave, Sophi began signing, "You're very good to have learned so recently ago. You sign like a natural. Have you ever thought about interpreting?"

Also signing for the sake of his cousin, Draco spoke, "She's right, Harry. I'm a hearing signer and I can tell you sign just like a deaf signer. You would be a great interpreter. I wanted to be an interpreter but I've got too much riding on me with my chemist job."

"You're a chemist? That's great." Harry smiled, looking over Draco appreciatively. Harry's mind secretly admired at just how handsome Draco was. He had never paid much attention in school, but he was absolutely stunning.

"Thanks," Draco replied sheepishly, his cheeks flushing in the slightest bit. "But Sophi is right, Harry. You should think about it."

Harry slowly mulled the thought over in his brain. He did enjoy sign language, but he had high hopes for the job with _Avant Garde_. Maybe, he would just have to give it some serious thought. "I will," he finally said, smiling again at Draco, then at Sophi.

The group continued talking into the night; Sophi told stories about being deaf, and Draco regaled them about some times he and Sophi had when they were younger. Harry, Sophi, and Draco had even started teaching Hermione some sign.

"I don't get it! My hands just suck!" Hermione huffed. To Harry and Draco's surprise, Hermione had quite a bit of difficulty grasping the concepts of sign language. The three of them just laughed, Harry and Draco more so at the sight of _the_ Hermione Granger having such difficulty mastering something.

Becoming exasperated, Hermione gave up, mumbling in frustration, "It's the alcohol. I could do it if it wasn't for that."

Harry just laughed, "Sure, Hermione." She gave him a devilish stare then allowed her features to lighten, giggling softly.

"So," Hermione began, "is sign language universal all over the world?"

It was Sophie who spoke this time, or rather, signed, with Harry translating what her hands portrayed for Hermione's signing impairment, "No. Every country utilizes it's own sign language, just like every country has it's own language. But, each country sometimes has different dialects of sign, but that's a much more complex subject." She laughed as she finished her last sign.

"The Wizarding World, however," Draco began, "has it's own sign language in it's own entirety. But Sophi's a muggle, so she uses BSL."

"BSL?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"British Sign Language." Harry stated matter-of-factly. Hermione shook her head slowly, smiling. She guessed that the reading behind sign language was going to keep her busy for quite some time.

Slowly, the pub began to empty, and as Draco looked up at the ornate clock hanging on the far wall, he saw that the time had crept to half-one. Sophi had left about 30 minutes before, and the remaining three had been so busy talking without noticing that the hour had gotten so late. "Blimey! I better be going," Draco said, finishing the last of his beer and setting down some bills on the table. "You two be careful. It was nice talking to you. We'll have to do it again."

"We will!" Hermione chirped, smiling with a nod at Harry then to Draco. Harry nodded with her, smiling back.

Draco leaned down to hug Hermione before turning to Harry and holding out his hand. "Take care, Harry." Harry hesitated for a second before he took Draco's hand into his. The contact of their bare skin caused a heat to build within Harry's chest, one he didn't know quite how to explain. Between their hands, Harry felt something being slid into his palm, before Draco removed his pale hand from Harry's, turning to walk out of the pub with resounding grace, giving Harry one last smile and a quick wink.

Harry looked in his palm, finding a small piece of folded paper. With Hermione watching him curiously, Harry unfolded the paper slowly. Inside, Draco had written down his mobile number, adorned with a smiley face at the very bottom of the torn paper.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow slowly finding it's way towards her hairline.

"Uhm . . . his mobile number. And a smiley face . . ." Harry mumbled, his cheeks taking the time to turn a mild shade of crimson.

"Ah ha," Hermione smiled knowingly, folding her arms and sitting back in her chair.

"'Mione, I don't think–" Harry began, but Hermione interrupted.

"I know what your going to say, Harry, and I understand. But I think you should just keep it. He wasn't coming onto you really strongly or anything. I think it was nice." she smiled at Harry, keeping her voice as gentle as possible.

Harry thought for a few moments. He still didn't think he was ready just yet to move on from the love of his life. For that was the problem; he still considered Aarron the love of his life. Sure, Draco was a beautiful man, and even though they were once at each other's throats on a daily basis, their evening of talking and socializing had turned out to be quite pleasant and even fun. He was funny, amusing, thoughtful, and he seemed like a real gentleman. But he couldn't just jump into something with someone when he wouldn't be able to fully commit to a relationship, not while He was on his mind practically every second of the day. No, in doing that he would risk breaking someone else's heart; something Harry vowed to _never_ do in his lifetime. He couldn't possibly imagine putting someone through what he had gone through in the past months.

However, there was no harm in keeping Draco's number, just in case. "Okay, I'll keep it."

Hermione just smiled her ever-present knowing smile and giggled, "Good! But I think it's time to be going. I have to work in the morning, and at this rate I'll never get up at 7am."

"Yeah, me too. I have to be at work at 10am." Harry sighed, realizing the reality of the entire situation.

They laid their money for their drinks along with Draco's on the table and stood, making their way out into the darkened street. It had cooled off quite substantially from earlier that day, but still felt pleasant. "Want me to walk you home, 'Mione?" Harry asked.

"No thanks, there's an aparition poin' just around the corner. 'M too tired and tipsy to walk that far." she giggled at her slightly slurred speech and gave Harry a warm hug.

"Be careful, you. You're sure you'll be alrigh'?" Harry asked thoughtfully.

"I'll be fine, love. Go get some rest," she gave him one last hug before turning and walking around the corner.

Harry turned in the direction to his flat and began the short walk home. His alcohol-laden brain mulled with thoughts of what had transpired over the past few hours. He figured, absentmindedly, that his brain would have a field day that night with all these new thoughts. Hopefully, since the alcohol was still flowing through him, he would be able to sleep for a while tonight. Hope, was all he could do these days, anyway.

As he drew closer to his flat, he turned his head towards the sky, gazing at the clusters of twinkling light littering the dark sky. He yawned widely, approaching an intersection and turning right onto Medowlark, his feet scuffling against the pavement, and a folded scrap of paper held tightly in his fingers.

* * *

_(A/N): There you have it. Please review! I **love** getting reviews, it really makes me work harder at getting these chapters up, even though this one is pathetically late. But, I promise, my sleeping schedule is back under control, so there shouldn't be such a long wait anymore. _

_Chapter Four should be posted sometime next week._

_And another thing, I know the sign language was a bit random, but I'm an interpreting student and I thought it would be neat to throw it into the story, since I haven't found any other Harry/Draco stories with it. It will have something to do with the plot though, but not for a while._

_Remember: Please, please review! I'll love you forever!_

_-D_


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